


A Bird In The Hand

by NahaFlowers



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: I swear Javert is OOC half the time, Javert comes in his pants, M-sur-M, M/M, Madeleine Era, Madeleine feels Javert up, Maybe Valjean just doesn't understand accepted social conventions?, Under the Table, oh well, secret fingerfucking, whilst conducting an interview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:50:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the Les Mis Kinkmeme: Javert and Madeleine are having a three-way conversation with someone (anyone, I don't care), and sometime during the conversation Javert feels Madeleine's hand creep underneath his greatcoat and start exploring: squeezing, pinching, a middle finger running firmly up and down the back seam of his breeches and pressing against his hole through the fabric. Javert has to somehow keep his composure while dealing with the rather difficult matter of being secretly fingerfucked through his clothes by the Mayor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bird In The Hand

“So,” began M. Madeleine, “what do you think you can offer the school?” He smiled graciously as the man began to talk. They were interviewing potential schoolmasters for the new school that had been set up in M-sur-Mer under the Mayor’s own money. Javert had been gruffly glad when Monsieur le Maire had requested his help in conducting the interviews, not trusting the man to choose a candidate who would be harsh and disciplined enough with the pupils.

This first one didn’t seem all that promising to Javert, blathering on about ‘allowing children to make their own mistakes’ and ‘to give the young freedom’ being the duty of education. He was about to lean forward and ask the man an (undoubtedly brusque) question when Madeleine’s hand on his knee startled him into silence. He risked a sideways glance at the Mayor’s face, only to see him smiling broadly, listening with rapt attention to the man.

Seething furiously to himself, Javert closed his eyes and tried to compose himself, attempting to slow down his wildly beating heart.

The man at long last finished his soliloquy, and Madeleine put another question to him, at the same time rubbing his large hand up and down Javert’s thigh until the Inspector’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head.

The potential schoolmaster who had just been about to launch into another monologue paused, looking concernedly at Javert.

“Are you quite alright, Inspector?” he asked, taking in Javert’s somewhat red face and heavy breathing.

“Fine, thank you,” said Javert, aiming a glare at Madeleine. Madeleine just grinned back at him, the picture of innocence, and added his voice to the melee. “Are you quite sure you’re well, Inspector?” 

Indignant at the derision in the Mayor’s tone on pronouncing his title, he made to reply, but at that moment Madeleine’s fingers walked the path down Javert’s inner thigh and grasped roughly at his engorged length through his trousers, so what actually came out of Javert’s mouth was “Of c-OH!”

The interviewee started back and the Mayor sharply withdrew his hand to cover his mouth, but Javert suspected that he was merely hiding his mirth from their company. When he moved his hand so just Javert could see his face, his suspicions were confirmed; Monsieur le Maire was grinning like a puppy who had just performed an impressive trick, and he even had the gall to wink at Javert (with eye on the side of his face turned away from the man on the other side of the table, of course). Javert spluttered, feeling himself start to sweat underneath his shirt, tugging at his collar which suddenly felt too tight. 

Madeleine raised his eyebrows, clearing his throat as he turned back to the table. “You are clearly unwell, Inspector. Perhaps you should go home. I believe I’m perfectly capable of conducting the rest of this interview on my own.”

Javert seriously contemplated it. By going along with feigning illness, he could escape this unbearably warm room (had it been this hot when he entered?) and whatever game the mayor was playing. But no, he would not give in to the Mayor’s plot and let him hire some mollycoddling halfwit who would probably refuse to punish pupils when they misbehaved. Inspector Javert had not become such without a large pinch of tenacity and stubbornness. He would remain.

“No,” Javert shook his head, “no, I’m fine now, Monsieur le Maire. I had a moment of...weakness, but I assure you, I am perfectly well now.” 

Madeleine nodded in satisfaction. “Shall we continue then?” Affirmatives from both men.

“Is there anything you would like to ask Monsieur Augustin, Inspector?”

Javert nodded grimly and opened his mouth to interrogate the man, but before he had finished his sentence, he again felt Madeleine’s fingers on his cock, barely tickling its length before reaching back to rub his balls through his trousers. He managed, just barely, to stifle a needy whimper, but he faltered in his speech. Unbeknownst to Javert, who was just concentrating on breathing steadily, the Mayor’s smile just grew broader.

“Pardon me, Inspector, what did you say?” M. Augustin asked, his tone shocked and brow furrowed. It sounded to him very much like the Inspector had scarcely restrained himself from cursing, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

Javert shook himself, pursing his lips. Madeleine’s hand had again retreated. Was he only going to...to touch him when he was speaking, to cause maximum discomfort and humiliation? 

“I apologise Monsieur. What I was trying to say,” he cast a pointed glare at Madeleine, who looked back contritely, pacifying Javert a little, but then, ever so slowly, edged his tongue out of his wet red mouth and licked his lips. Javert narrowed his eyes at his superior whilst trying to ignore how uncomfortably tight his trousers were getting (even more so than before.) He cleared his throat. “What I was trying to say, was how do you plan on disciplining your pupils?” The hand was on his thigh again. Javert closed his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath in whilst saying a silent prayer, and ignored it. “After all, Monsieur...children can be naughty and as the police officer of this town I feel I must inform you,” (his voice was getting higher and more desperate in time with the rapidly increasing rhythm of the Mayor’s hand) “that it is a necessary responsibility for the schoolmaster to dole out sufficient punishment to wrongdoers.” Or that’s what Javert would have said. Unfortunately for him, on the word punishment, Monsieur le Maire’s fingers had trailed backwards to his asshole, and one had been shoved up, fabric and all. All coherent thought had fled the Inspector and he had come with a groan, cutting the end of his sentence short.

“What’s the matter, Inspector?” asked Augustin, alarmed, for Javert was now slumped over, his head on the desk, breathing hard and fast as he tried to restrain the errant tear that exited his eye along with a pitiful whimper. Madeleine took control of the situation.

“I think it would be best if we leave it here for today, don’t you, Monsieur? I must see to my Inspector.” And he proffered a hand to the potential schoolmaster, the same hand that he had just used to bring his Inspector to the brink. Augustin took it, giving the Mayor his regards and the Inspector his best wishes, but was clearly anxious to exit the room. As soon as he had, Madeleine turned around and walked towards Javert slowly, the way one would approach a spooked horse.

“Are you alright, Javert?” he asked softly, laying a calloused hand on the other man’s grizzled hair. He noticed the other man’s shoulders were shaking and wrapped an arm over Javert’s shoulders, leaning down to whisper “I’m sorry” in his ear.

At this, Javert looked up sharply. “What for? You are my superior; it is your right to do what you like with me.”

“Not if you didn’t want it.” The Mayor sagged into a chair, bowed down with guilt. He was not that man anymore, was he? Maybe the Inspector was right; perhaps some people didn’t ever change.

“But I did want it.” Javert’s voice came out low and hoarse, and he had to work hard to keep it steady as he stared at the table. The Mayor could not be allowed to know how much he had wanted it, nor how much he longed for it to happen again, although maybe not in such a public situation. That would be...wholly inappropriate, thought Javert, cursing himself for even entertaining these thoughts. It would be an abomination! And yet...

Javert’s wildly tangled thoughts were interrupted by Madeleine placing his hand upon Javert’s. Javert looked up at the Mayor.

“I am glad,” he said, gracing Javert with a little smile as the man looked into his eyes with something close to reverence. He found himself nearly overcome.

Javert’s face also softened into a smile, his hard outer shell destroyed by the damned Mayor and his wickedness and his goodness. He found himself lifting up Madeleine’s hand, gazing at it in wonder, before hesitantly bestowing a kiss to each finger. Madeleine held his breath, blinking in incomprehension at the almost entirely altered Inspector. At long last Javert was finished worshipping his fingers and Madeleine cleared his throat.

“So- um- you would...like to do this,” he gestured vaguely at their still-joined hands “again, then?” He felt himself blushing like a schoolboy, and sternly instructed himself to pull himself together.

But Javert was blushing too, his face reddening as he considered the glorious (sinful) prospect. He nodded, his throat caught. “But perhaps in a more...private location, next time, Monsieur le Maire?”

Madeleine chuckled, the previous tension broken. “Perhaps that would be best,” he agreed. There was an awkward silence.

“Well, I should be getting back to work,” said Javert, drawing himself up. “My patrol starts in five minutes.” He stood up, the facade of the buttoned up, severe servant of the law back in place. Everything the same as it was.

“Yes, right you are. And I should probably be getting back to the Mairie too. I must rearrange the interviews for the candidates.”

They exited the building together and the Inspector merely gave him a terse nod before setting out into the night. Everything as it was. Except that Jean Valjean now knew that the Inspector’s stiff upper lip was a facade, just as the Mayor was a facade. He had broken through the thick hard shell to find the runny yolk underneath. Things had changed irrevocably between the Mayor and his Inspector, and they both knew it.


End file.
